:message in a bottle:
Keeping up appearances.
Guess I'm going fine. People are busy and I too am short of time.
Always keep your chin up were your departing words to me. But this year has left me little to believe. You say one day I'll understand why you're not here to hold my hand. But I know I'm not wrong so I'll go ahead and say – when it rains it pours, and I might not meet the day.
A million love songs lay useless on the desk because they never touch on the feelings that are weighing in my chest. Your whispers left close to my lips have tangled with my veins. How many times do I have to fall before you're here again?
Waiting for a change of weather.
B.B.: What is this? A depressing poem? Or a page from the fictionpress site's diary about it's moderators? I'm so happy, just had to post something to make sure it's not all a dream and I wake up to find this site removed from the web forever. My collection of fiction is beginning to present the wrong idea about me. I am not a poet, I am a fiction writer! But I seem to have more poems that stories, which could be a problem. I could possibly do without some of those.